Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1887-04-02
The CADETSHIP.
by JAMES FRANKLIN FITS.


We are old men now Carroll and l. He
is sixty-eight, and | am two years his
junior. Excepting brief period, of which
something will be said by and by, We have
lived all our lives together. As boys we
were brought up in the same family; after
/ had graduated at West Point my leave
was passed at home; and only a short in
terval followed before | was severely
wounded at Buena Vista. That day made
me cripple and an invalid for life, and q
Government pensioner. 1t was ut CAROLS
hreside that found hearty and affection
ate welcome; and nothing, during all the
years that have since passed, has happened
to make me regret that l consented when
Carroll insisted that this should always be
my home. | have seen his children grow
up in this house; some have died, some
have married; of all the happy family that
| have seen here in these forty years, there
only remain now Carroll and his good old
wife, and two orphan grand children.
To have fought in the Mexican war; to
have seen Scott and Taylor in command:
TO have survived The stern experience of
Buena Vista. even rs physical wreck
these things, it may be thought, should
qualify me to tell long and interesting sto-
ries of marching, fighting, and campaign
ing. And SO they do. CAROLS boys
could testify that they have heard Uncle
Carson talk of his experience in Mexico by
the hour; and their uncle can certify that
the youngsters were never satisfied. But
| did not take up my pen to relate any
thing Of this kind. The subsequent his
tory Of our country shows that such expe-
rences are common enough now; the
newspapers and magazines are full of
I do 81 fn 1ata To
something that is not SO common--to no.
bility of heart, to tender brotherly affection
to Carroll, III short, God bless him.
Something that he had concealed from me
for years he was led, by his sense of duty,
into revealing last night; and it has so af-
feeted me that it must be set down.
Observation has shown me that III most
families there is much pickering and quar-
reling among the children. Not being a
philosopher, and having been condemned
by the circumstances l have named to be
a bachelor, / caunot account for this IN
pleasant fact What has impressed the
fact more deeply upon my mind is the very
sharp contrast that l find upon going back
t, the days of my boyhood. If Carroll and
I ever had quarrel, l cannot now remem-
Ter 1t. We played together, studied to-
gethcr, worked together, in the utmost
harmony. We were the only children of
tue family, and our brothelly attachment
strengthened as We grew. One wise and
deeply-read boy at school l remember, who
called us Damon and Pythias. In DISPOSE
ton and tastes we we're not at all alike.
Carroll was rather reserved, studious,
|;oughtful, and earnest; l was not over
oni of my book, and was headlong and
Gpulsiye. My fun was of the boisterous
noisy kind; he had fine sense of hui
II, and would say amusing things, with a
mike of the eye, but a very straight
@.
We were large lads, we'll grown, healthy,
advanced in our studies, so that the
nstion as to whether We or either of us
.uld go to college had been TO some ex-
discussed, when father came in one
uing looking rather serious, with let
III his hand. He was one of that rather
kind of parents who treat their boys
Z the utmost frankness, and get their
idence by freely giving their own.
Boys" he said," here is something that
lily troubles me. l might as well tell
Il about it at once. 1t is a letter from
II. Sanders, our Representative in Con-
ress. He says that there is a vacancy in
lie Military Academy at West Point, and
that he can control the appointment. He
is one of my best friends, and he offers the
cadetship for one of you. l think
interrupted him before he could express
his opinion. 1 jumped from my chair.
clapped my hands, and cried;
ooh, father, let me 90! I'd like it above
all things"
thought shade of surprise crossed his
face.
I'm doubtful, Carson, whether this
would be jrst the thing for you. Do you
hink you would like a military life?'
Il knop / should"
But you don't know what West Point
:. You have no idea of the severe course
# study, and the discipline of the place. "
Other boys have succeeded there; !
all not fail.
My father smiled at the largeness of my
Toast.
Carroll, what do you think of this?" he
asked.
was very eager to get my fathers con-
sent, but did not fail to observe that my
bro her was very much affected by my de-
termination. He seemed not only greatly
surprised, but panied also. Father had to
repeat the question before he answered.
II don't know, sir. This is very sud-
lien. I never supposed that Carson wanted
to be soldier
Il never said 1 did" was my comment.
But, now that the thing is mentioned, and
there seems to be q chance, can see with
out one minutes thinking that it's just the
thing for me"
l never was more in earnest, nor more
honest, in my life; but the expression OF
my fathers face showed me that he regard
ed me as Il rattle Drained boy.
$50 on, Carroll" he said.
Il don't know what to say. sir. Ii isn't
the career l should have chosen for Car.
son. But if he thinks it is the one that
would suit him best. suppose sup
pose"
He got up and hastily left the room.
1t seemed strange to me that CarrGl
should look so far ahead as to be so munf
affected at the thought of the dangers vi
the soldiers life but knew his atfectiGr
for NE, and felt touched by this proof OF
it.
My father wrote to Mr.. Sanders. thank
ing HIM for the offer, and asking for ont
week in which to decide. In the meantime
he talked to me very seriously about thu
profession that wished to enter, and the
great difficulty of preparation for it. was
much impressed by what he said: but he
saw that my mind was thoroughly made
up, and at the end of the week he wrote
again TO Mr.. Sanders, requesting him to
send in my name.
Once after this Carroll spoke to me
aboutit.
Are you sure this is the life you want to
I'll